


The Place You Need

by queeniegalore



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, M/M, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14209617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: Perhaps, eventually, Cullen would learn to knock.





	The Place You Need

It wasn’t as if it was the first time Cullen had shown up at the Iron Bull’s quarters unannounced.

Cullen commanded the Inquisition’s forces, Bull commanded the Chargers, and despite all his best efforts he couldn’t leave the entirety of the running of them to his Lieutenant. On more than one occasion Cullen had had cause to visit the Bull’s rooms, if he hadn’t been able to catch him in the yard or in the tavern, to seek his advice, discuss troop movements and deployments and so on. It wasn’t - it wasn’t _unusual_.

Perhaps, eventually, Cullen would learn to knock.

The room was dim, lit only by a lantern in the far corner and a few candles scattered around glowing softly. It was close and warm, warmer than the cool, early spring night should have warranted, and that was Cullen’s first clue that something was...amiss. The air smelled like sweat, and candle wax, and leather, like _Bull_ \- but also something else. An expensive scent that Cullen associated with books, and chess, and laughter in the gardens.

A scent he associated with Dorian Pavus.

“Oh, sweet _Maker_.”

The Iron Bull, naked, seemed even more impossibly giant than usual, and Dorian, in his lap, smaller than Cullen knew he really was.

They were displayed before him, framed impeccably by the candles, a mass of slowly writhing bronze and silver muscle on the bed. Dorian’s thick thighs were spread either side of Bull’s, his neck arched back in a long, elegant line, throat held by one of Bull’s enormous, scarred hands. His mouth was open - Dorian’s - lips plump and wet and he was _gasping_ out his pleasure at whatever Bull was doing to him. Eyes squeezed shut, kohl smudged down his cheeks, trembling and naked and hard as Bull pushed _up_ and _in_ and...

“Cullen. How’s it going?”

Cullen lifted his eyes slowly, the shock of the situation making him feel almost drugged, slow and stupid, and met Bull’s amused gaze over Dorian’s shaking shoulder. He licked his lips nervously, compulsively, and Bull _grinned_ before Cullen finally snapped his eyes away.

“I am - I am _so_ sorry,” he stammered, gaze fixed to the wall behind them. “I had no idea you were together like - I, I mean obviously I had some idea, we all have an _idea_ , but I had _no idea_ you had company _tonight_ Bull. Maker.”

Dorian made a sound, low and deep, and out of the corner of his eye Cullen saw Bull moving, thighs shifting, the hand on Dorian’s neck going from gripping to stroking. Sweet _Andraste_ , that easy rhythm, they were starting again, or hadn’t really stopped and Cullen couldn’t breathe properly somehow, like it was _his_ neck being held by Bull’s thick fingers, _his_ body impaled and held and played.

“Yeah Cullen, you’re gonna need to shut the door.” Bull’s voice was an easy rumble, still faintly amused. “In or out, your choice! But you are going to have to shut that door one way or another.”

“Bull!” Dorian gasped, sounding shocked, but not angry, half twisting to look up into Bull’s face. Cullen meanwhile was rendered speechless as he tried to parse what Bull had just said, mouth working silently, unable to keep his gaze from darting back to them, and down, and back to the wall.

“Come on Commander. You do wanna watch, right?”

“Bull!” Dorian and Cullen in concert this time, and Cullen knew his face was a brilliant, blinding red, his eyes wide. Surely Bull couldn’t be implying what he thought he was implying…?

_You_ do _want to watch_ , a tiny, traitorous voice whispered in his ear. _You want to be given permission to look, see what Dorian is taking, see his face as he does…_

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, mortified at himself, and blinked rapidly. They were still - they looked like they had no intention of _stopping_ , covering themselves, saving Cullen his dignity. It was _obscene_. “I. Uh. Excuse me?”

“You’re going to give the poor man a stroke, Bull,” Dorian said softly, his voice rougher than Cullen had ever heard it, raspy like he’d been _choked_. Cullen’s mouth was dry, he licked his lips again and focused on the ceiling, desperately trying not to watch the way they were moving together. It was hard - harder than he expected - to keep his eyes off them. They were a site unlike anything he’d seen before in his life, unlike anything he’d ever admit to wanting.

And Maker, why was he still _there_?

“I apologise,” he managed, gaze flitting over them and away, catching images in pieces. Dorian’s bronze skin glowing with sweat, Bull’s muscles straining, a smear of something wet on the soft inside of a thigh... Oh, void. He shifted nervously, suddenly too hot, too exposed to their scrutiny. “I’ll uh, come back later...tomorrow. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon, when you’re free again. Um. Do - do carry on.”

“Oh, we plan on it,” Bull drawled. “We were just getting _started_.”

“Enjoy,” Cullen said automatically, because why not, he was already completely mortified, a little more humiliation couldn’t hurt. “I mean, obviously you’re...enjoying yourselves. Oh sweet Maker.”

“In or out, Cullen,” Bull laughed. “You’re always welcome.”

“Out, I think,” Cullen said weakly. “Good _evening_.” And he finally - finally! - tore his gaze away for the last time and stepped back through open door into the fresh night air, closing it firmly behind him.

_Doesn’t the man have a lock?_

He paused there, a moment, pressing his forehead against the cool wood of the door, willing the blood from his face, willing it away from...elsewhere also. Because blessed _Andraste_ that had him hard, and now the door was closed between them he could admit that. He was hot and aching in his trews, excitement and trepidation and sick, feverish _arousal_ churning in his gut, impossible to ignore. He sucked in a deep, slow breath and held it, closed his eyes and-

He could still _hear_ them.

That unmistakable, rhythmic pounding had started up again, coupled with Dorian’s throaty moans, Bull murmuring something to him, voice low and rough. They were in there, right there on the other side of the door, and Bull was so big, the way he surrounded and filled Dorian, right _there_ and…

“You take it so fucking _good_ , kadan.”

Cullen had to bite his lip to hold in the small, shocky moan that wanted to escape him then, listening as Bull’s voice rose enough to be heard through the door, listening as the sounds of their fucking got _harder_ , _faster_.

“ _Venhedis,_ Bull.”

“Yeah? Shit kadan, just ride me, just like that, spread those legs for me, you fucking love it.”

“Oh, _yes_.”

“Like being on display for me...liked being on display for Cullen.”

Cullen drew blood, teeth slicing through his lip as his cock jumped, _leaked_ , his hands clenched into fists against the door.

“Oh fuck Bull, yes, _yes_.”

“Yeah, I know, I get it. I felt it when he came in, you nearly came as soon as he laid eyes on you. Clenched so tight on my cock I almost lost it myself.” The sounds of shifting, a soft crash, and then the thumping picked up, accompanied by a faint slapping sound. Cullen could picture them, Bull tumbling Dorian forward onto his hands and knees, gripping his hips and pounding into him, fucking him right through the Maker-damned mattress.

“He wanted us,” Dorian said, breathless, voice a raspy, shattered whine. “He wanted to stay.”

“Of course he did, look at you. And you _wanted_ that, kadan. Yeah? Maybe you wanna be taken by the both of us?”

Cullen was panting, now, and there was no force on the Maker’s sweet earth that could have stopped him from sliding one shaking hand down to press against his cock, fingering the head through his trousers, thumb rubbing at where the moist slit was soaking through the fabric.

“ _Fasta vass_.”

And then nothing for a moment but the low, animal sounds of their rut, the bed head slamming against the wall, the steady slap as the Bull pounded into Dorian, driving them towards their finish.

Cullen knew he needed to leave. He knew. He knew he needed to turn and walk away, head back to his rooms and bar the door and take care of himself there if he must (and oh, he _must_ , he needed to come, needed it while the image was still fresh in his mind, Bull pressing inside Dorian as they watched him, as he watched them, oh, he needed to come so _badly_ …). But he couldn’t tear himself away, wanted desperately to hear their finish, wanted to take that back with him.

“You’re picturing it aren’t you Dorian.” Bull’s voice cut through the night, as intimate as if he were whispering it in _Cullen’s_ ear, and Cullen moaned as softly as he could, the hand that wasn’t playing with his traitorous cock pressed hard to his mouth to muffle the sound. “Picturing the way he’d look as he stuffed his cock right between your pretty lips.”

Another moan, pushed desperately into his palm, and Cullen was close, ridiculously so for how little stimulation he was getting from his fingers through his trousers.

“Bull, please,” Dorian panted, sounding strained and desperate himself. “What if...what if he was still there?”

Bull laughed, a deep, wicked chuckle. “Oh I _know_ he’s still there, Dorian. And he’s about to hear you _come_.”

“Maker _fuck_ ,” Cullen hissed, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks burning in the night air. He froze, gathered himself to bolt and then he heard it - Dorian giving a long, broken groan, unmistakable, Bull murmuring encouragement, the shake of the bed going still for a moment as Dorian reached his climax.

“Bull, yes... _now, yes_!”

“Oh shit yeah, kadan. Hey Cullen, you catch that?”

But Cullen had finally remembered how to _move_ , pushing away from the door, wincing as it rattled on its old hinges, and rushing away through the chill back to his tower. His face felt like a flaming beacon, like anyone who happened to glance out into the night would see him burning away in his shame and arousal, would know what he’d done.

Maker, what he’d _done_.

He slammed through to his office, finding it blessedly empty, and barred every door before throwing himself down into his chair. He could hear Dorian Pavus’s orgasm echoing in his ears, hear Bull’s taunting voice, the slam of the bed and the slap of their skin, all the filthy, wet, depraved sounds of their fucking, and it only took a few moments as he spat in his hand and shoved it down his trousers, grinding into it almost too rough, and then he was coming, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back against his chair, his free hand scraping scratches into the wood of his desk in the abandon of his pleasure.

_Picturing the way he’d look as he stuffed his cock right between your pretty lips..._

Cullen slumped back when it was done, a sweaty, sticky mess of guilt. Covered in shame and the cooling remnants of his own spend coating his hand and the inside of his smalls. Closing his eyes with a deep sigh, he tapped his head against the high back of his chair, turned a little to rub his hot cheek against the worn fabric.

A thought came, unbidden - had Bull reached his release yet? Or was he still going, pumping inside of Dorian, whispering filth in his ears, maybe still talking about Cullen. About Cullen _joining_ them, like that was a possibility, something that could happen in this world.

Surely not.

But oh, Maker, they had known he was there, known he was listening. How was he going to look in their faces in the morning with the image of their coupling still fresh in his mind and the sound of Dorian’s cries still ringing in his ears? And with the knowledge that he’d come harder and faster than he could _remember_ thinking about what they’d been doing and thinking - oh, be honest Rutherford - thinking about Bull’s impossible invitation.

_You’re always welcome._

“Maker’s breath,” he sighed aloud to himself, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his clean hand. If he’d only just excused himself and left -!

But he hadn’t, and now he had this. A mess in his trousers, a blush that felt like it would never fade, and a pressing need to actually talk to Bull about what he’d gone to his chambers to talk to him about in the first place.

And perhaps a few lingering discoveries about himself and what he might, in other circumstances, find himself tempted into enjoying.

“Well, fuck me,” he murmured to himself, stood awkwardly in his wet pants, and slowly made his way up the ladder to bed.

~

It was, probably not surprisingly, the Bull who came to his office in the morning to see what he’d wanted.

Not long after breakfast, when Cullen was reading reports over his cup of tea, trying alternately to drum up the nerve to seek out Bull, or to put everything out of his mind long enough to get some blasted work done.

“Hey Cullen. You free?”

He did not, with the Maker’s blessing, spill his tea, but it was a near thing. Bull filled the doorway, horns titled a little awkwardly to the side to avoid grazing the frame. He was shirtless and harnessed, as usual, barely showing less skin than he had last night, but now Cullen had the memory of it. The image of the width of his thighs and how Dorian had had to stretch to span them. The image of the way sweat had dripped down his body, of the way his fingers had so easily encircled Dorian’s throat…

“Cullen?”

Cullen blinked, shook his head sharply. “I- yes. Sorry. Yes, I’m free, come in.”

Bull grinned, not unkindly, and ducked the rest of the way through the door as Cullen fussed with his papers, piling them up out of order and pushing them to one side, where they would inevitably be lost to the mountains of paperwork that assailed him daily. It did not, right then, occur to him to care.

“How can I help you, Bull?” Cullen asked, with a slow sense of dread. Of course, Bull was coming to talk about the night before. He’d be good about it, friendly, but Cullen had vastly overstepped. Bull had had his fun with him, but now would come the gentle rebuke. Cullen should not have stayed, door open or closed. He’d intruded, he’d been...intrusive.

“Actually, I thought _you_ wanted _me_.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose up almost into his hair. “I beg your pardon?”

Bull snorted, sauntering over to take a seat in front of Cullen’s desk, and for the first time, Cullen noticed he had papers of his own clutched in one of those monstrous hands. “You came to my room for a reason last night, right? Figured it had something to do with where you wanted to deploy the boys next, and I had some thoughts about the Emprise. You got time now?” And he spread the papers out, and they were maps and charts, and like he’d flipped a switch, Bull was all business and Cullen…

Cullen _could_ deal with this. This _had_ been what he’d wanted Bull for, to discuss the best use of the Chargers in the coming months, to maybe sit over an ale and pour over their maps and not think about the place between Dorian’s legs where Cullen had seen what Bull was doing, seen the stretch…

“Yes.” Cullen coughed, had a sip of his cold tea, and coughed again. “Yes of course. And...Bull? I-”

“Hey.” Bull looked gentle, _amused_ but not making fun. “Don’t. Don’t worry about it. Offer made, offer refused, right? You’re not interested, and now we know. We can keep things professional.”

Once again, Cullen felt like he’d been blindsided. Offer made? Offer _refused_ ? But surely he hadn’t been serious. Surely Cullen couldn’t be expected to do anything other than ( _leave_ , which he hadn’t, and Bull had known and carried on regardless, known he was there, known he could hear, known he was so desperate he could die with it) leave and _apologise_ and try to move on.

Surely?

Cullen took a deep breath, looked Bull in his eye, and prepared to do just that. Apologize. Move on. Forget the offer, forget the pang of longing, the sweet, full flush of arousal, forget the temptation.

“I don’t remember refusing,” he said instead, slowly, marvelling at his own boldness. “Did I?”

Bull looked, of course, just remarkably smug, like Cullen had played directly into his hands.

“You did leave, Commander.”

“Well.” And here Cullen’s courage faltered. He flicked his gaze away, ran it up one of Bull’s horns and off to the side before managing to continue. “Not soon enough, apparently.”

The horn tilted back, Bull making himself comfortable in yet another human sized chair, something that looked suddenly cheap and flimsy under him. Cullen resolved, somewhere in the back of his reeling mind, to have some qunari sized furnishings built, something to accommodate that _bulk_.

“You stayed on the wrong side of the door,” Bull said softly, voice low and rough like it had been the night before, murmured in Dorian’s ear but meant for _him_. “I assure you, the view was better than just the noises.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cullen murmured back, through a throat suddenly dry as a desert. “The noises certainly did the trick.”

He dared to glanced back at Bull’s face, saw his nostrils flaring in surprise. Ahh, a hit then. No one ever expected Cullen to be this forward, least of all himself. He found he liked, on _occasion_ , to surprise people.

“So, there _is_ a man in there under all that plate and fur.” Bull was _approving_. “Dorian will be delighted.”

Cullen ran a shaking hand over his face and let out a soft laugh. “Oh, sometimes.” His gaze caught on Bull’s maps. He’d come here ready to talk work, to give Cullen an easy out if he wanted it. And did he?

“We do need to discuss this,” Cullen said slowly, gesturing to the desk between them. “I have an important mission for your Chargers, if you should agree. They do good work.”

Bull was watching him closely. “They do,” he agreed. “They’re good boys.”

Cullen smiled, and ran a finger over the wood of his desk, across the scratches he’d made last night in his desperation. He noticed Bull noticing, and flushed with something like embarrassment, and something like pleasure. “But if we don’t get through it all today, if I were to come to your quarters tonight.” He paused, and gathered up the last of his courage. His heart was pounding, sending blood rushing in pulses to his face, and between his legs. He could. He could have this. Or he could try.

“Were we to require, perhaps, a third opinion. Would I find Dorian...amenable?”

“Oh, shit yeah.” And Bull laughed, throaty and inviting. “Yeah Cullen, I think you just might. You’ll have to come and see.”

Cullen felt giddy with his own daring. He _could_ have this, if he wanted. He could have _them_. What a ridiculous, marvellous concept.

He rubbed a thumb across his mouth, and pulled a map across the table, tapping it smartly and smirking up at the Bull.

“ _Well_ , then. To work?”

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
